


Between madness and sanity

by onlymton



Series: Finding Runner Five [2]
Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, F/F, F/M, Female Runner Five, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, more shameless tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlymton/pseuds/onlymton
Summary: Runner Five deviates from a routine run for an impromptu rescue, but she brings far more back to Abel than she bargained for. Meanwhile, Sam considers finally letting her know how he feels about her.***Spoilers through S3M48.*** Trigger warning for canon-typical descriptions of violence - and, please note, that includes children.





	1. For the millionth time

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a follow-up to my collection of vignettes titled "Parachutes" and takes place loosely toward the end of Season 3.

"All right, Runner Five, good work. You've got the antibiotics and the fuel. Now get back to Abel before that pack of zombies catches up with you."

Five doesn't respond, but, then again, she rarely does. At first, that perplexed Sam - he was used to the other runners' "got it," "thanks, Sam" or even the occasional "are you mad?" But not Five. She might be the least talkative person he’s ever known. But whatever he asks, Five does. No questions. He has to admit that when the other runners talk back to him in the field, he sometimes wishes that she was there instead, silently kicking ass. 

His comms shack is in its usual state of semi-controlled chaos, with papers, equipment, and cords stacked in awkward piles at crammed intervals along his desk space. The video screens emerge from the mess at varied heights and of various models. It's pretty impressive what they've been able to cobble together, considering it's the end of the world and all.

He leans back in his rolling chair. It’s a warm day, and for once he doesn't mind the wind escaping through the cracks in the wall with its breaths of fresh air. He fiddles with one of his screens that's a bit out of focus. 

"That pack is picking up speed," he says, glancing at the clearer view. “I think you'd better head south along the rail tracks instead. Run!" Though the cam view is grainy, he watches Five readjust the axe, baton, and gun on her belt. She squares her shoulders in the way that means she's preparing herself for the worst and makes the turn toward the rail tracks.

Watching Five run is one of Sam's secret pleasures. There's nothing especially graceful about it, truth be told, but her movements are just so economical. Every movement deliberate and purposeful. Just like her speech. She never says much, but when she does, every word is important.

He checks her tracker location on the GPS. About two kilometers away. Even weighed down with the fuel, Five should be able to clear that in plenty of time to evade those zoms. Sam allows himself to exhale. Soon he'll be saying "Raise the gates!" to bring her back to safety. His stomach settles into a calmer state, and he permits himself to uncap the jar of Marmite that's been calling to him for the last hour.

The first bite of salty goodness hits his tongue when he glances back to the camera feeds and sees nothing. Okay, the rail tracks are still there. And so is that pack of zoms on the east cam.

But no Five.

"Five? I've lost you on my cams. Are you okay?" The tracker signal's barely moved - she hasn't gone far. He toggles a couple of switches and brings up her headcam, desperate for a clue. The screen flickers on, and Sam stares at it, apprehension churning the spoonful of Marmite in his belly. The video feed bobs rhythmically, and the sky is at the top where it belongs with the ground at the bottom. She's running. She's alive.

"I've got your headcam, Five. What happened?"

Only static answers him.

"Dammit, Five, what's going on?"

"Trust me," she says, breathless. How can he not? She's never let him down...well, except for that mind control thing. Which was not her fault. Not that she seems to believe that when he tells her.

She's running fast, that much is for sure as he watches her. She's been out most of the day by herself, and carrying that heavy fuel can't be easy. Of course she wouldn't stop to take a break, and of course when Janine asked her, as head of runners, who should go on this mission, Five volunteered herself. Sam supposed it wasn't her fault that Four has a cold and Fifteen's partner has a new baby and Nine and Eleven had run for the past five days straight. But he's lost track of how many days in a row Five's been out. Sam makes a mental note to ask Maxine to check up on her. Time for a doc-ordered rest day.

Maybe her rest day will coincide with his. Maybe he'll finally screw up his courage and make a move. 

Maybe.

She reappears on the southeast cam heading directly for trouble. "Five, you're heading straight into a gigantic pack of zoms. There must be…forty. No, fifty. Whatever you're doing, Five, it can't be worth this!"

"Trust me."

"What's going on? Do you need more runners?" The temperature in the comms shack feels like it's gone up a hundred degrees.

No answer.

What sane reason could Five possibly have for running straight into a massive pack of zombies? Something must be wrong; maybe she’s finally cracked. She’s just as human as the rest of them, and she’s been through hell and worse in the last few weeks. He presses the buzzer that's wired to Janine's office. 

"Mr. Yao? What is it?" Janine's voice sounds crisp even over the intercom.

"It's Five. I don't know what the hell she's doing. You'd better get down here. Get Maxine, too."

"On my way." He doesn't miss the tremble in Janine's voice.

"Listen, Five, if you don't start talking to me, I'm going to have to send help."

"No. Almost there."

Almost straight into that pack of zoms, he can see. What the hell is she doing?

Janine and Dr. Myers burst into the comms shack. "What's going on?" asks Maxine. They both peer intently at Sam's cameras.

"Five. Finishing a supply run, two kilometers from home, and then out of nowhere sprinted off in the opposite direction toward a humongous pack of zoms."

"Mind control again?" asks Janine, her lips pursed.

"Shouldn't be possible," says Maxine. "The treatment should have cured all of us."

"'Should have' isn't definitely, Dr. Myers," says Janine. "Mr. Yao, call up any available runners and send them to the gates."

"There aren't many," says Sam. "That's why Five volunteered."

"I said 'able,' Mr. Yao. I don't care if they're tired or sick or whatever. Get them."

"I'll do it," volunteers Maxine.

Sam mouths a silent "thank you" at her. He can't take his eyes off Five. He's simultaneously furious and sick with fear. He watches as several faster zoms circle near her.

"Behind you!" he yells.

Five stops, and Sam feels a little dizzy as her headcam swings around. He turns to one of the other camera views, and the spinning sensation abates. She is pulling the axe from her belt. Sam can't see her eyes on the screen, not clearly, but he can imagine them in the way she furrows her brows and clenches her jaw. She is wearing her I'm-going-to-send-you-to-meet-your-maker-if-zoms-even-have-such-a-thing face. The wind kicks up around her, taking the bandana she wraps her hair in and whipping it off her head. Tendrils of hair curl around her face, which looks ghostly pale on the monitor. She grips the axe with both hands and hoists it over her head. Five is primal, lethal.

Terrifying. 

She swings the axe into the first zombie and splits its skull in two. A quick chop to one side, and the other side, and she's dispatched two more. The axe gets stuck, somehow, in the shoulder of the fourth one, and with her free hand she pulls out her baton, whacks the zom across its knees, and drives it to the ground with the handle of the embedded axe. A crack to the head, which is already hanging on by just a few strips of muscle, and the zom slumps. She braces her foot on its other shoulder and, with a tug, frees her axe. She is splattered with gore.

The next few zoms are in bad shape. Sam can see an arm and a leg barely hanging on to one; another is just a head and a torso on a pair of gimpy legs. Five bashes them out of her way, but even through the grainy video feed he can see the sweat dripping down her face. She is fighting with her usual ferocity, and he is afraid to say anything for fear of breaking her concentration.

"Looks like she's handling things pretty well," says Maxine, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He appreciates the sign of support more than he can say, and he pats her hand before reassuming a death grip on his control board.

And then they see the reason for Five's kamikaze mission. The zombies are clustering around the bottom of a tree, and up in the branches sits a small child.

"Oh my," breathes Maxine. "Maybe three or four years old?"

Sam huffs out a sigh of relief. Five’s not crazy; it’s hard to think of a more sane reason to risk her life than to save a child. 

"Mostly shamblers," he says, watching the zombies break away from the tree to follow her. "But we've got runners coming to help."

"Send them back," says Five. She has the entire pack following her and is a good fifty meters away from the tree. She unhooks something from her belt and fusses with it for a moment before flinging it over her shoulder.

"Five was not sent out with any grenades," says Janine, pursing her lips together.

Sam turns down the volume from Five's audio feed just in time as the explosion shakes the view from the video feeds.

Maxine’s hand grips his shoulder with more force. 

"You got them all, Five! Wow! That was spectacular!" Sam can hear some feeble groans but only sees a few twitching limbs.

Five is already running back toward the child, dodging bits and pieces of exploded zoms. She stops in front of the tree and looks up at the boy. Through her headcam, Sam can see that it's a boy with enormous bushy hair and a tear-streaked face. He takes a long look at her.

"Zombies gone?" he asks in a querulous voice.

Sam watches Five's head cam video move up and down as she nods. The boy jumps into her arms, and she sets him on the ground. He looks back at the pile of zombie flesh.

"Boom," he whispers. He lifts his arms back toward her in the universal child motion of "up." Five hoists him onto her hip. She gives the boy her baton.

"Swing at any zombies," she instructs him.

He grips the baton with one hand and snakes his other arm around Five's neck. 

"Mr. Yao, which camera is that?" asks Janine, pointing at the west tower cam shot. A dozen or so zombies are moving toward Five and the boy.

"Five? You've got another small pack heading toward you from the west," says Sam.

Five lifts the axe in her free hand and scans the horizon.

"Probably attracted by the noise,” he continues. "And…they look fast. Get back to Abel now. Run!"

Five takes off, the fast zoms in pursuit. Her pace is slower with the child, though, and on one of the screens he can see her scrunching up her nose, which she only does when she's really feeling taxed. 

"How far away is she?" asks Janine, covering the microphone with her hand.

"Two kilometers," he says.

"She won't make it. She’s carrying ten kilos of fuel and who knows how much with that child. That's too much for anybody, especially in this heat."

"Not for Runner Five,” he says, willing it to be so. Not for his smart, courageous, stubborn Five.

"Five?" calls Jody over the headset. "We're coming.” She pauses to sneeze. "Six and Fourteen are drawing the zoms away." A noisemaker sounds in the distance.

Five grunts. Her steps are getting more erratic, and Sam can tell that she’s running out of steam. He switches to the view from the front tower - she's getting closer, maybe just half a kilometer away. The comms shack is stifling. He pulls his collar away from his neck, trying to unstick his sweaty shirt from his chest and back. The jar of Marmite stares at him, mocking him for his earlier complacency. 

"I'm heading to the gates." Maxine squeezes his shoulder one last time before heading for the door.

"I'll help," says Janine. "Mr. Yao, just get Five back."

“Five, you're clear coming in,” he says, scanning the cameras perched along Abel's perimeter. “Four, Six, and Fourteen have pulled most of the zoms away from you. Maxine's waiting at the gates. Come on, Five, almost there. You can do it. You just have to press on a bit farther. Run!"

Five is struggling, her steps slowing to a slow jog. The child must have dropped the baton as he now has both arms wrapped around her, and for a moment Sam wants nothing more than to be that child. Five keeps lumbering, never looking over her shoulder, trusting in his proclamation of safety.

"Come on, Five! You're so close! I bet we can rig a hot shower for you and everything. You’re almost home. Just keep going!" Five has refused countless tokens of appreciation during her time in Abel, but she never turns down a hot shower.

She puts on a short burst of speed, but then her steps begin to falter. A few meters from the gates, she sets the child down.

"Run," she pants.

"Raise the gates!" yells Sam.

The gates creak and clank their way upward as the sirens blare. The child dashes into the township followed by Five, who stumbles in just a few steps behind him. The gates clang down as gunfire sounds from just outside the shack, echoed in Five's audio feed.

"Oh, God, Five. You're all right. You're home." Sam slumps in his chair, remaining there for a moment before forcing his gaze back onto the field cams. "Four, Six, Fourteen - you just need to shake off those shamblers behind you. The snipers picked off the ones trailing Five."

He looks back at the camera that's inside the gates. Five is on her knees, palms splayed out on the ground, chest heaving. The boy is standing next to her, clinging to her back. 

"Need a hand, Sam?" Eugene is in the doorway. "Dr. Myers said I should check on you."

"Just these three runners to bring in," he says, silently thanking Maxine again. "They're outpacing the zoms behind them, only a bit more to go."

"You look like you need a break,” says Eugene. “That's what you trained me for, right?"

"Yeah. All right. Thanks." Sam’s eyes stay on the monitor with Five as he yields the rolling chair to Eugene. She’s moved into a half-crouch, her elbows on her knees, the boy still glued to her side.

"Go. I got this." Eugene sinks into the chair and sets his crutch on the ground.

Sam needs no more invitation and flies out of the comms shack, jogging toward the gates, toward Five. It's not that much cooler outside, but least there's a breeze.

She's standing by the time he approaches but is still breathing heavily, and he resists the urge to run up to her. The child is sniffling and clutching a sagging stuffed rabbit. She unhooks her belt and sets it on the ground along with her axe. She studies the axe, and Sam knows from the pinch in her cheeks that she is lamenting its companion, the lost baton. She shrugs out of her backpack, and Janine is there to lower its bulging weight to the ground. 

Janine unzips the backpack and lifts out the bottles of pills. Her hands close around something heavy in the bag; she struggles to free the object from its canvas trappings. Sam steps forward, tugs the backpack away as Janine extricates a fuel canister. They repeat the process three more times to free the remaining fuel. Janine’s sharp gaze shifts to study Five for a moment before stepping away, leaving the neat piles of fuel and pill bottles next to Five's collapsed backpack.

Sam walks over to where Maxine is crouching next to the boy. His torso and arms are covered in drying scraps of zombie from where he was clutching at Five.

"Hi, sweetheart," says Maxine to the boy. "Can we get you cleaned up?"

"Bet it'd feel real nice to get all those zombie bits off," adds Sam, smiling.

The boy shakes his head and wraps his arms around Five’s leg.

Five reaches over and tousles the boy's giant mass of hair. Her shoulders are slumped, and she is blinking a lot, in that way Sam’s seen her do when she’s tired. She is covered in drying blood and chunks of decaying flesh, and the smell is god-awful. She leans over and whispers something in the child’s ear.

“Like tag?” the boy replies in that loud speak-whisper of young children.

 Five nods and points to a spot in front of Maxine. The boy ambles over and sits down, covers his eyes, and starts to count. 

“1…2..."

"Five," says Janine, returning with two buckets of water, "given the amount of detritus you've accumulated, I have to ask that Dr. Myers performs your bite check right here."

Five nods. She slips her headset off and hands it to Sam before accepting the buckets and moving a few meters away from the group. She sets down one bucket before lifting the other over her head. The water loosens the spattered chunks of gray flesh and caked blood from her clothes and skin, creating little rivulets of water and filth. Despite the warmth of the day, Five is shivering, and her wet tank top and shorts reveal the explicit outlines of her body. She sets down the first bucket, now empty, and bends over to pick up the second. Sam can’t stop his eyes from following the curve of her breasts. Her eyes catch his just before she upends the second bucket, and they are wide and curious. Questioning. Ashamed, he drops his gaze to his shoes.

“She’s lost weight again," says Janine, just loud enough for him and Maxine to hear.

He looks up as Five sets down the second bucket, now also empty. The runners often struggle to eat enough to offset the energy they expend on runs, and Five is no exception.

“I’ll put her back on extra rations,” says Maxine, “but you know what will happen."

“We need every runner in peak condition,” says Janine. “She needs to stop giving her food away."

“I’ll see what I can do." Maxine shakes her head.

Five has managed to wash off the worst of the muck, and she walks back toward the group. Sam can't take his eyes off her. She is sopping wet. The smell of stale sweat and death hangs heavy in the humid air around her. And yet there is no mistaking the strength and determination in the way she stands, her torso straight, her hand on one hip. The wind picks up again, blowing her wet hair across her face; she sweeps it across her cheekbone and tucks it behind her ear in one smooth motion.

She’s the loveliest, sexiest thing he has ever seen.

“8…9…10!” The boy jumps up. Five walks over and taps him on the shoulder.

“You got me!" He claps his hands.

Five motions for him to take a step back before allowing Maxine to lift one arm, then another, peer under her tank, lift the hem of her shorts.

“The runners don’t usually have an audience for this, Mr. Yao,” says Janine.

Sam turns around, embarrassed to have been caught staring again. No one deserves to be gawked at like that. Besides, he reminds himself, he’s angry with her. She went off on her own without saying why, into a situation that could have gotten her and the boy killed had he not called for reinforcements.

He hears the boy giggling and ventures a look over his shoulder. Maxine is checking the boy. 

"Let's get to the hospital, okay?" Her voice is hard, and Sam can hear the fake cheer in her voice. 

"Probably nothing," she says to Five.

Five's narrowed eyes communicate her disbelief of this statement.

Sam hands Five her headset, his eyes on the ground, the buckets, the child, anywhere but on her.

"Where did you get that grenade, Five?" asks Janine, her curious hands now on Five's belt.

Five slips the headset around her neck in that way the runners do when they're inside the gates. 

“More importantly, why didn’t you tell me you had it?” asks Sam. This was, clearly, her plan. She thought that she had the ammo to blow her way out all by herself. She thought that he wouldn't need to send out the other runners - except he did. She would never have beaten that final pack of fast zoms without them. At that moment, the gates rise again, and Four, Six, and Fourteen sprint inside. Four looks especially ghastly, sneezing and shaking from head to toe.

Five is silent, unwilling to reveal her source.

“That’s why you didn’t tell me, over the comms,” says Sam. “Didn’t want to tip off anyone who might be listening that you had one."

“Anyone like the Ministry?” asks Janine, disapproval now warring with admiration in her tone, but she hands the now-empty belt back to Five, who slings it over her shoulder. The boy, holding his rabbit in one hand, takes Five's hand in his other. 

“What's your name?" says Maxine to the boy. 

The boy looks up and blinks, silent. Sam sees him tightening his grip on Five's hand. Great. Five’s quietness has rubbed off on the lad already.

"Would it be okay if we went to the hospital?" asks Maxine.

The boy looks up at Five for guidance. Five nods and the boy, watching her, follows suit. The three head off, and Sam finds himself straggling behind, feeling superfluous.

“Five, I’ll see you at dinner?" he calls out after a moment.

She spins around for the briefest of moments, her lips set in a grim line, but her eyes creasing, just so, at the corners. He fancies himself an expert at interpreting Five's looks, and this one means that she's a little mad, but not too much. About what, well, he can't be sure. Probably him sending out those other runners when she asked him not to. Maybe him staring at her, too - though the look she gave him at the time wasn't any variation of her usual angry looks, wasn't a look he'd ever seen before. He's not sure what to call it, exactly, but he wouldn't mind seeing it again.

He shakes his head at himself and walks back to the comms shack, the image of her imprinted on his brain, impatient for it to be dinnertime so he can see her again. He argues with himself for the millionth time, should he tell her, shouldn't he tell her. It could be wonderful, amazing. Or awful and completely, totally disastrous. Of course she'll reject him. He has nothing to offer the beautiful hero of Abel Township. He’s not intelligent or good-looking or witty.

He opens the door to the comms shack, lost in thought, to find Jack on Eugene’s lap. He can’t tell whose limbs belong to whom.

“Get a room, you two,” he says, chuckling.

Jack jumps off Eugene, who is still sitting in Sam’s chair with a giant grin on his face.

“Sorry, Sam. Just celebrating my successful stint as Abel's comms operator.” Eugene reaches down for his crutch and hoists himself next to his partner. 

“Listen, guys, can I ask you something?” This might be the looniest idea he’s ever had, but if he’s sure of one thing, it’s that Jack and Gene will be honest with him. And not laugh at him. Well, probably not laugh at him too excessively. 

The radio boyfriends nod.

"Okay, well, here’s the thing. Am I attractive? I mean, would somebody…"

“Thinking of batting for the other team, mate?” says Jack.

“No, you idiot,” says Eugene, shaking his head. “It's Runner Five. Am I right?"

“Is it that obvious?" asks Sam, the heat returning to his cheeks.

Jack and Eugene trade significant glances.

“No, absolutely not,” says Eugene, ever the diplomat. “We’ve just gotten to know you pretty well."

“And of course you’re an attractive bloke!” says Jack, clapping him on the arm. “I mean, you’re tall...” here Eugene clears his throat, “…enough for Runner Five, and babes love anything ethnic."

“What would you know about ‘babes?'” asks Eugene. The word sounds even more ridiculous in his Canadian accent.

“I…pay attention,” says Jack, giving Eugene a help-me-I’m-drowning look that Sam does not miss.

“Never mind,” says Sam, feeling beyond foolish. “Forget it."

“Good luck, mate,” says Jack. "She's really something, that Runner Five."  

“Don't sell yourself short," adds Eugene.

The two of them stop in the doorway, smiling at him like they’re in an advert for gay toothpaste.

“Get a room,” repeats Sam, waving them out and settling back into his chair. 

He’d never admit it out loud, but Jack and Eugene have him thinking that he just might have a chance.


	2. Work on your communication

Sam slides into his chair, replacing Jack and Eugene in the scene he just witnessed with himself and Runner Five.

"Mr. Yao?"

Janine's voice yanks him out of his reverie, and he sits up straight, feet on the floor.

"Mission debriefing, now."

Sam stands; he is not in the mood for a Janine Deluca debriefing session, but he knows better than to argue.

"Runner Five is still in the infirmary with Dr. Myers and the child," she says, striding out of the comms shack.

Sam scrambles to keep up with her clipped steps. They've had debriefings in hospital before, but usually only when something urgent is happening or a runner is injured. He's pretty sure neither of those apply, but he's also not arguing with the chance to check up on Five.

"If you hadn't sent those other runners out, she wouldn't have made it," says Janine.

"Yeah," says Sam, "but Five was right not to announce that grenade over an unsecured channel."

"Wherever did she get it?"

"Probably lifted it off somebody," he says, remembering other times he's watched her pick items off distracted individuals of uncertain or hostile allegiance. He wonders if, sometimes, people forget she's there because she's so quiet. They don't see what he sees, how intently she observes everyone and everything.

They arrive at the hospital and walk back to the main treatment area. Paula is there, sitting next to the boy on a cot. She has a length of yarn in her hands, and it looks like they're playing cat's cradle. The boy has his stuffed rabbit on his lap.

"Hopefully we can find somebody on Rofflenet who knows him," says Maxine to Sam and Janine.

The boy coughs once, twice.

"Where Five?" he asks.

"She's resting," says Paula. 

The boy looks back at the treatment bays, presumably searching for Five, but then his attention shifts back to Paula and the game.

"We have no clue where he came from," says Maxine as she sinks onto an adjacent cot.

"No time for that now,” says Janine. “We need Five for debriefing."

"She's exhausted, Janine. She nearly fell asleep in the shower here before conking out on an empty bed in the back. We should let her rest."

"Yeah, we can catch her up later," adds Sam, not allowing himself to imagine Five in the shower. Definitely not allowing himself to imagine Five stripping off her wet clothes before getting in the shower.

"We must correct this communication breakdown," says Janine. "She can talk to us for a few minutes."

"All right," says Maxine with a sigh. She pushes herself off the cot, leads them back toward the small observation area, and sweeps back a curtain. 

Five is sleeping, her hands pillowed under her head of damp hair. The clean skin of her face and arms glows under the weak fluorescent lights. She is wearing jogging pants and a clean t-shirt, and her calloused feet are bare. She looks peaceful, serene - nothing like the ferocious creature capably slaying zombies an hour ago. Sam revels in the sight of her, relaxed and comfortable.

"Runner Five?" Maxine gently pats her ankle. 

Five stretches her arms over her head and blinks at Maxine. Her eyes look beyond Maxine to where Sam and Janine are standing, and she instantly sits, pushing her hair away from her face.

"Five, I understand not wanting to broadcast your stolen grenade," begins Janine, "but you left your comms operator in a terrible position."

"Sam should've trusted me." She looks straight at him, a tiny wrinkle in her forehead demonstrating her disappointment.

"But you can't blame him for being worried," says Maxine. 

"I'm cured." Five looks at Maxine, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes, yes," says Janine, "but you can see why we were concerned. Not exactly easy, getting over this mind control business."

"And without the other runners, those fast zoms would have caught you," says Sam, unwilling to look Five in the eye.

"Mr. Yao had to make a judgment call on limited information," continues Janine. "You know the rules, Runner Five. Transparency with your operator is a must."

Sam lifts his eyebrows enough to peek at Five. Her hands are folded in her lap, her eyes on the ground. The wrinkle continues to disrupt the center of her forehead. He knows what Janine is waiting for, knows equally well that Five will not offer it.

"Listen," says Sam, "everyone came home safely. And I'm sure Five can agree to more transparency in the future."

Five lifts her head, her chin moving up and down in the tiniest of nods.

"Good.” Janine crosses her arms, turns to leave. “Then perhaps you and Runner Five might work on your communication."

Maxine stifles a choking sound with the back of her hand as the bell announcing dinner chimes.

"Hey, Sam, do me a favor?" she asks. "Keep Runner Five awake long enough to eat her extra rations."

At the word "extra," Five's head turns toward Maxine.

"Doctor's orders, Five," says Maxine. "And plenty of fluids!"

Five shrugs, slips on her socks and shoes, and follows Sam out of the infirmary.

Her footfalls are slow, measured. He can well imagine the fatigue and stiffness in her muscles after what she's been through today, but she doesn't complain. Five never complains. She keeps her eyes on the gravel path.

"Listen, Five," says Sam as they walk, "I really am sorry. I mean, I'm not sorry that I wanted to make sure that you were okay. But I'm sorry you felt that I didn't trust you."

The wrinkle in Five's forehead disappears.

"And, well, Janine is right," continues Sam. "I need to know what you're thinking."

"I'm cured." He can tell by the slump in Five's shoulders that she is tired of this issue.

"I know that now," he says. "But what was I supposed to think?"

"I'm sorry." She sighs, stops walking for a moment. Her lips turn down as her nose and eyes press toward each other just a bit.

"It's okay," he says, desperate to change the subject, erase the guilt from her face. "It all turned out okay."

She sighs a little, and he wishes he was brave enough to ask her why. But they've arrived at the mess hall; Sam scoots ahead of Five so that he can sweep back the canvas from the doorway for her.

As soon as Five walks in, a swarm of children envelop her.

"How many zoms did you off today, Runner Five?"

"Guess," she says, smiling.

It's the children's nightly ritual with Five, and as they shout out numbers she crouches down to greet them. A couple of the little girls swarm in for hugs, and Five wraps her arms around each in turn. They're not quick, obligatory hugs. She takes her time with each child.

The children have finished guessing and look expectantly to Five for an answer. She turns to Sam, her arms lifting in an "I'm not sure" motion.

"How many were in that pack you blew up?" he asks. "Not sure, exactly, but I'd say around fifty."

No one had guessed nearly that high, and bedlam erupts. The children chatter loudly about explosives and grenades, peppering Five with questions.

Sam knows how exhausted she is, but she is incredibly patient with the children. She finishes giving high fives and fist bumps and stands back up.

"You are so great with them," he says, wondering again who she was before the apocalypse. Did she have children? His thoughts turn to Sara Smith, how she used a shovel to dispatch her husband and her children when they went gray.

Five's eyes drop, just for a second, and Sam watches as her thoughts leave the present. Sara and Five had been close. Maybe they shared similar horrors. He can just imagine Five recognizing her family changing, making that impossible decision. She would have looked them in the eyes as she wielded whatever weapon she had at hand.

"Runner Five! Sam!"

Phil Cheeseman calls out from behind the chow line.

"Phil? What brings you to Abel?" asks Sam, not at all upset to have something less gruesome to ruminate on.

"We lost a bet," says Zoe behind Phil. "So we're doing Jack and Eugene's turn here tonight."

Phil looks down at a clipboard. "I see it's extra rations for you, Runner Five."

Five picks up a plate and hands it to Phil.

"Here you go, Runner Five," says Zoe, adding a heaping pile of vegetables next to the casserole Phil had dished out.

"Nothing like a steaming mound of goat, I always say," says Phil.

"Sometimes I'd rather not know what's in this stuff," whispers Sam in Five's ear.

Five rewards him with a raised eyebrow. They carry their trays to a table where Jack and Eugene are sitting, Paula heading to join them.

"Five, Sam," says Paula as she sits, smiling at them. "Maxie's running a few more tests on the boy. She should be here soon." Five sits, leaving a space for Maxine next to Paula. Sam sets his plate down across from them.

"You found this boy all alone?" asks Jack.

Five stabs a piece of goat meat with her fork and nods.

"How did you know he was out there, anyway?" asks Sam.

"Found the rabbit," says Five in between forkfuls of vegetables.

"But that could have been out there for ages," says Paula.

"Wasn't dirty," says Five.

"Looked pretty beat up to me," says Sam.

"Wait, I see," says Eugene. "You could tell that it was well-loved, but it wasn't dirty like it would have been if it had been outside for a long time."

Five nods and takes a large swallow of water. 

"Bloody well done, Runner Five," says Jack. "Don't suppose you'd like to recap this heroic tale for the Radio Cabel listeners?"

Five shakes her head.

"Not to change the subject," says Paula, "but when I was helping Maxie with your report, Five, I noticed that it's your birthday tomorrow."

"This calls for a party!" says Jack.

"We could do a special broadcast!" adds Eugene.

Five's shoulders hunch just a bit, and to Sam it looks like she'd like to melt into what's left of her casserole.

"Five," asks Sam, "what do you say?"

She looks up from her plate. Jack, Eugene, and Paula are all beaming at her. She bites the corner of her lip.

"C'mon, Runner Five," says Eugene. "We'd love to do this for you."

Five nods, and talk of finding liquor, candles, and ingredients for a cake quickly spreads to other tables. Soon it is only Sam and Five still seated.

Maxine walks into the hall, her eyes roaming over them until she finds Paula. They trade a quick peck before Maxine starts speaking to her in hurried, hushed tones.

Sam acknowledges the twinge of jealousy at their happy relationship before looking back at Five, who is picking apart the pumpkin seeds on her plate. One side of her lips is upturned in what he recognizes as her smile of resignation. He knows the party isn't what she would have wanted, but she is still enjoying everyone's excitement.

"Say Five," he begins, before he can stop himself, "if you happen to decide that you need an early exit from this party, I'm your man."

Five is motionless, her gaze on her plate, a pumpkin seed trapped between her thumb and forefinger. 

"If you want, that is," says Sam, feeling the sting of the rejection he should have known was coming. Stupid, stupid, stupid! "I mean, no obligation. It's your birthday and all. Just, uh, throwing it out there."

Five sets down the seed and lifts her bright eyes to look directly into his. She nods. Smiles. Tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. Okay. Brilliant," says Sam. "You just give me the signal. When you're ready."

She stands and moves to pick up her plate, but Sam is faster.

"Good night, Sam." She slips out the side exit, evading most of the party planners, but lingering near Maxine and Paula for a moment along the way.

His name never sounded as perfect as it does in Five's soft voice. No more stalling, then. Tomorrow is his chance. He steels his resolve.

Tomorrow he'll tell her.


	3. I've got you

Sam wakes the next morning to the sounds of gunfire and the heavy clanking of the gates. His eyes find his watch: 0543. He sits up, rubs his hands against the stubble on his cheeks. There are no missions scheduled today. He pulls on a pair of pants and his shoes, leaving on the t-shirt he slept in. What the hell is going on, and why didn’t anyone wake him? 

He jogs the short distance from his room to the comms shack and finds Five’s headset missing from its charger. He sits down, flips on his feeds, and scans the various camera views.

She is sitting on the side of a hill not far outside of the township with the boy. He is munching on some sort of sandwich.

“Pretty,” the boy says, pointing to the sky, and Sam watches with him as a bold yellow sun emerges from behind a mass of wispy pink clouds. The boy coughs, and then coughs again, the second cough deeper, ominous.

“Mr. Yao.” Janine storms into the comms shack. “There were no authorised missions scheduled this morning. I have been informed that Five took her gun, and a shovel is missing from my storeroom."

“It's Runner Five?” Maxine enters behind Janine and pushes her out of the way to look at the video screen. “Oh, no,” she says, backing up to sink onto the shack's threadbare couch.

“Why’re you crying?” asks the boy between coughs, his voice amplified over the audio speakers for them all to hear.

“I made a new friend,” says Five, and a horrible, horrible weight settles into Sam’s gut. “But he’s got the ‘flu."

“He’s gonna be a zombie?” asks the boy.

Sam can see Five nodding.

“She must’ve heard me talking to Paula last night, after dinner,” says Maxine, her head in her hands. “The boy’s serum tested positive. I…I told Paula that I’ve never had to…"

“Euthanise a child?” asks Janine. She sits down next to Maxine. 

“I’m sleepy,” says the boy, coughing again. Five has her arms wrapped around him. 

“Yes,” says Maxine. “I knew I would, when the time came, but…oh. Five."

Sam knows he is sitting in his chair, sees his familiar screens and blinking lights around him, but he can’t feel his body in the chair. He can’t feel his hands as he toggles the view to scan for hostiles around Five and the boy, around the space where they sit between madness and sanity. For only in an apocalypse could the decision to end a child’s life be called sane; only in an apocalypse would the decision to do otherwise be madness.

“You’re, you’re clear, Five,” he hears his cracking voice say into the mic.

“Turn off the comms,” says Five. Calm. Professional. Like it’s just another mission.

“Okay, but just for a minute.” The queasy feeling intensifies; his guts are twisting into impossible knots. He turns off the video feeds, but his finger hovers over the switch for Five’s headset audio.

Janine leads Maxine out of the comms shack, an arm around her shoulders.

Sam hears Paula’s voice outside: “What’s wrong, love?” and he knows that she's got Maxine.

But who’s got Five? Who's got his beautiful, impossible Five?

He does, of course. He will see this through with her. He leaves her headset audio switched on. He won't leave her completely alone.

The boy is coughing, coughing, coughing, and the last few turn into growls that make the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand up.

Five is singing what sounds like a lullaby, softly, but he can’t make out the words.

The song finishes.

And he knows it is coming, but his body still jerks out of his chair when the gun fires. 

Five's audio is silent. He flips on her head cam video feed; she has the boy on her lap. She strokes his hair, just for a moment, before rolling him gently to the ground and holstering her gun. She lifts the boy's body into her arms and begins walking up the hill, and Sam recognizes where the hill is, recognizes that she is carrying him into the Abel graveyard.

He grabs a rubbish bin and vomits.

“Sam?” asks Five.

“Yeah, sorry, what?” he sputters.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

He remembers that he left the audio on.

“Am I all right?” he asks back. “God, Five.” 

“Thought I’d be back before anyone woke,” she says, her breath heavy as she crests the hill. “I’m sorry."

“You’re...sorry?” He realizes that he sounds like some sort of inane parrot, repeating back her words because there are no other words, no words at all. He’s been through everything with his runners, every kind of tragedy, but not this. Never something like this.

“Is the head cam visual still off?” asks Five.

“Yes,” he lies, as he turns it off again. He can’t watch her bury the child.

“Watch the perimeter. This won’t take long,” she says.

Even after what she has done this morning, she’s still making sure everyone else is okay. That Sam can do his job. That Maxine can do her job, her last memory of the boy alive and smiling, not cold and dead at her own hands.

“Yeah, okay,” is all he can say. He forces his eyes to the perimeter feed cams. "Looks good."

It takes Five thirty minutes to dig, her heavy breaths in his ears punctuated by the occasional grunt. She is silent for so long after that Sam flicks the headcam vid back on. She is kneeling next to the fresh mound of earth, tying a loop of twine around the boy's stuffed bunny rabbit to affix it to a cross of twigs. It's a common enough ritual; maybe someone who knew the boy will find it and know he's gone, didn't join the ranks of the undead.

Maxine comes back in, her hand on Sam's shoulder for a moment before she picks up the waste can of his sick and walks out, returning a few minutes later with it a little wet but clean.

Almost on instinct, Sam swivels his head to a west-facing cam. 

"Five? Small pack headed your way from the west. Just shamblers, but I wouldn't wait around for them. Run."

Five picks up the shovel and sprints down the hill. She beats the zoms easily but keeps running, like somehow she can outrun what just happened.

"Covering fire! Raise the gates!" Sam bolts out of the comms shack, Maxine on his heels.

A small, silent crowd has been waiting for Five; as always, word travels fast at Abel. Her eyes are at the ground as she surrenders the shovel and gun to Janine.

"Runner Five," says Janine, "that was a very brave thing you did." Five walks right past her to where Jody and several of the other runners are standing.

“C’mon Five,” says Jody, still sounding a bit stuffy but otherwise looking like she's feeling better from her cold. “Let's walk this off. Then a good stretch, all right?” 

Sam can see that Five’s arms and legs are trembling. He remembers that digging a grave is hard work, that she ran herself into the ground yesterday, that today is supposed to be her rest day. The other runners envelop her, and they all walk toward the training track. Someone slips a jumper over her head. Maxine jogs to meet them, and the group stops long enough for Maxine to grab Five in a fierce hug. Then Maxine steps away, and the slow march resumes.

Sam sinks onto a bench nearby. Paula joins him.

“If it was possible for me to love Five any more than I already do, I would,” says Paula. “What she did for Maxie..."

“For all of us,” chokes out Sam. “She spared all of us, having to deal with that boy's death. It's like she’s super human."

“I’m not so sure of that,” says Paula as Sam’s eyes follow Five. She walks away from the group, just a little bit, and is kneeling on the ground. The other runners disperse slowly, but Jody crouches down behind her. Five rocks back and forth for a moment before crumpling.

“Five!” yells Sam, and before he knows what he is doing, he is running toward her, Paula next to him.

“She’s exhausted,” says Jody as they approach. “I don’t think she slept last night."

“Not at all?” asks Paula as they roll Five onto her side. She is shaking, her eyes half-open but oblivious.

“It was too quiet,” says Jody, and Paula nods her head. 

“No nightmares,” says Paula. 

Jody nods.

Of course Five has nightmares, thinks Sam. How could she not? He is suddenly so angry at everyone who’s ever hurt Five that his vision blurs. Van Ark. Moonchild. Even the boy.

“C’mon Five,” says Paula. “Let’s have Maxie check you out.” She and Jody each take one of Five’s arms and hoist her to a standing position. Sam stands behind them, feeling useless.

A moment later, though, Five’s legs buckle again, and she collapses against Sam. 

“Easy there,” he says. “I’ve got you.” He takes one of Five’s arms and drapes it over his shoulders, and Jody comes up on Five’s other side and does the same. “Nice and slow."

Paula jogs ahead of them to alert Maxine.

The effort of every step is evident in the tremble in Five’s legs and the hitches of her breath. The weight of her arm gets heavier and heavier across Sam’s shoulders, and a dozen or so meters away from the hospital she sags completely. Sam lifts her into his arms and feels her cheek slump against his shoulder. He is worried sick for her, his impetuous Five, but a small part of him is also relishing the feel of her pressed against him. In this moment, she is safe, and she is with him. 

Jody sprints off into the hospital and emerges with Maxine, Paula, and a gurney. Sam lowers Five onto the cart with careful movements while Maxine lays a hand on her forehead, checks her pulse, pinches a fingernail.

“She’s dehydrated,” announces Maxine. 

"And no sleep after that long run yesterday," says Jody.

"After a week of long runs," adds Sam. Five is curled into a ball on her side, her arms wrapped around her torso, still shaking. He steps aside as Paula and Maxine wheel her into one of the treatment bays. 

Maxine and Paula roll Five from the gurney onto a cot, and Jody scoots the gurney outside. Maxine is scrubbing the inside of Five's elbow with antiseptic, and Paula hands her a needle. Sam feels his knees weaken as Maxine deftly inserts the IV.

“C’mon, Sam,” says Jody.

“No,” says Sam. “I'm staying."

“Have it your way, then,” says Jody.

Maxine covers Five with a blanket and turns to Sam.

“Still here, Sam?"

“I'm staying," he says again.

“She’ll be fine. Nothing some fluids and a little rest won’t cure,” says Maxine. “But I think Five would like it, if you would stay."

Maxine winks at him before pulling a curtain behind her. He stares at the space she has vacated, his brain trying and failing to process her expression. There are no chairs in this small space behind the curtain, so he sits gingerly on the side of Five's cot. The blanket is tucked up to her chin, but the shaking hasn't stopped.

Sam reaches a tentative hand toward her, lets it rest on her arm.

The light over Five's cot flickers off, and he hears a creak as Maxine settles into a chair on the other side of the treatment bay. The sound of a pen scratching on paper makes its way to his ears.

In the thin beam of light escaping from beneath the curtain, he watches her blink heavy tears down her cheeks. It's not the first time he's kept vigil with a runner in hospital, but Five has never allowed him to sit with her before. He waits for her to wave him away, but instead she curls against him. Surprised but pleased, he rearranges himself, his back against the wall at the head of the cot, his legs up next to hers.

"It's okay," he murmurs, patting her shoulder. "You go right ahead and have a good cry. God knows you've earned it."

Five lifts his arm to crawl underneath it, settling against his chest. Her tears transition into heavy, wracking sobs. He pulls the blanket back into place, settles his arms tight around her, reaches with one hand to stroke her hair.

He's never seen her cry before, though he's seen her with red-rimmed eyes on occasion and wondered. She's doing a bang-up job of it now, that's for sure, sniffling and snorting between gasps and heaves, moisture hitting his shirt in random small splotches. Of course his Five wouldn't just have a quiet little weep, he realizes; she never does anything halfway. 

“Sorry,” she whispers several minutes later.

“For saving the world? Again?” Sam laughs a little. Five's breaths are coming in short hiccups.

“Almost didn’t take a headset,” she says. “But I thought you’d worry.” Her trembling is slowing.

Words that he’s been waiting to say since forever catch in his throat. The shaking finally subsides, and she is quiet. Her weight is solid, comforting, her chest rising and falling in gentle intervals. He lays his cheek against the top of her head. If only he could keep her here, next to him. Away from zombies and madmen and danger.

The curtain opens and Maxine walks in. She studies Five for a moment. 

"Sleeping?” she mouths at Sam.

He nods.

A wide smile spreads across her face. She switches the IV bag out and checks Five’s pulse.

“Better,” she whispers, releasing Five's wrist. “You okay?"

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Five is tucked against him, fitting in his arms perfectly, exhaling soft little puffs of air against his tear-stained t-shirt. He's never seen her let her guard down for anyone, and somehow seeing her so vulnerable only amplifies what he knows of her courage.

"Brilliant," he adds as Maxine pulls the curtain closed again.


	4. Just perfect, really

Five is awake but hesitates to open her eyes. She doesn’t remember going to sleep. She’s not in her room, not on her mattress. There are breaths here that are not hers. It feels like a heavy blanket is draped over the left side of her body.

She can’t move her left arm, but she stretches her right arm over her head, feels the bite of the needle in the crook of her elbow, and remembers.

The boy.

The run home.

Sam.

She opens her eyes. They feel gritty and heavy and swollen. She sees a series of snapshots featuring Sam’s sleeping face as she blinks. She is stretched against him as he snores softly, slumped against the back of the cot. His arm is draped over hers. His weight is solid, comforting.

She’s been trying since forever to suppress her feelings for him, even more so as she saw hints that, maybe, he felt the same. She has a job to do at Abel, a job that doesn't leave time for indulgences.

Her history in that department is spotty, anyway; even Before, she always put work first, and no one ever respected that, ever saw her dedication as a positive trait. She had deduced that she was selfish, expecting others to accommodate her drive to excel. So she put relationships on the shelf, threw herself into her work, and figured she just was meant to be alone.

She got good at being alone, but that doesn't mean she likes it.

Five closes her eyes again, indulges herself in enjoying Sam's nearness, just for the moment. She tries to remember the events from earlier in the day.

Is it still day? It's dark enough in this corner of Maxine's treatment bay that she can't read her watch. She feels like she might have been sleeping for the better part of forever.

When she heard Maxine and Paula talking last night, she knew what she had to do. Maxine would have to inject the boy with a lethal dose of something before he turned, use her skills to end an innocent child's life. Five could not fathom adding any more suffering to what Maxine had already endured. From the way the boy was coughing yesterday, today was going to have to be the day she took action to prevent that.

Slipping out with the boy in the pre-dawn light was easy. The gate sentries didn't ask any questions. She figured that they understood - coughing, gun, shovel. It's not like it was the first time in this nightmarish apocalypse that they had seen someone exit with the same in tow. The child could not be permitted to transform inside the township. Maxine would be spared the kill.

And one more on Five's list? Whatever. She'd deal. Her nightmares were already over-crowded with the ghosts of the people she had killed to defend Abel, defend her friends, defend herself. Not to mention what she had done under Moonchild's control, wielding weapons with a blank smile on her face and misery in her conflicted heart.

So no wonder, when she had first found the boy, that she had permitted herself the brief, silly fantasy of raising him with Sam. Of watching him grow together, creating their own little family. God knows she carried enough horror and misery to deserve a little fantasy now and then.

She pushes fantasy aside with well-practiced restraint only to remember that real-life Sam is right next to her. She opens her eyes again, studying the slight angle of his eyebrows, his dark hair sticking out in all directions, his skin like sunshine. Her resolve to stay detached is faltering. She's worked hard to keep him at arm's length, hoping that the physical distance would help her keep her emotional distance.

Did he know how many times his voice in her ear had been the difference between madness and sanity?

"Hey, Five," says Sam, his eyelids fluttering.

She learned a long time ago about the pain that unnecessary words can cause. So she just blinks back at him.

"Feeling better?" he asks, rubbing her free arm gently with his hand.

She lifts her head enough to nod. She doesn't want to move, doesn't want to break the spell. Because surely he didn't hold her as she wept just a few hours ago.

Her complete and total exhaustion had destroyed her willpower - she had completely let her guard down. She shouldn't have let herself get so tired. She had tried to sleep last night, but she couldn't get the boy out of her head. The weight of him as she had carried him, his sticky hands gripping her neck, the trust in his eyes.

"I'm not sure I believe you," he says.

She wonders what her face is betraying. She wonders if there is other work he should be doing but figures Janine would have dragged him away if that was the case.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asks, smoothing a strand of hair against her scalp.

I hated killing that boy.  
But I would have hated letting Maxine do it more.  
I still have nightmares about Van Ark.  
And Moonchild.  
And the Comansys ship.  
And the time I imagined that I had hurt you.  
Thank you for being so kind to me.  
For never giving up on me.  
I think I love you.  
No, I know I do.

But she is only brave enough to say, "Thank you."

"Happy to help, Five, you know that," he says. "You know...I would do anything for you."

She feels her breath catch. And part of her heart is free, soaring above the storm clouds of her pain, buoyant on the eddies of air that spin and stream in the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

But part of her knows she is too wrecked, too damaged, to give Sam what he needs. What he deserves. And that part of her knows that she must tell him so that he can be free of her.

He is watching her, perhaps studying her as she was him a few moments ago. Waiting for a response.

"I can't be what you need," she finally says.

Sam sits up, rubs his cheeks, but she can't move. Not yet. Reality hurts too much.

"Five...I...God," he exhales. "I'm making a right mess of this. Listen. I would be so happy just being with you. You don't have to do or be anything except yourself."

Now she does sit up, facing him. The balloon in her heart is inflating, threatening to leave no room for her self-doubt as it expands.

"I know you've been through a lot.” He takes one of her hands in his. “Okay, so maybe that's, like, the biggest understatement ever. I can guess that you went through a lot Before, too, though I know you don't ever talk about it. And I wouldn't ask you to. I just want to be with you, here and now. Not that, well, not that I'm such a catch."

"Not true," she says, thinking of his irrepressible optimism, his fierce loyalty. She looks at him, sees his pupils eating the deep brown of his irises under the scrutiny of her gaze. He never gives up, always fights to find a solution when a situation seems impossible. He says what he feels without hesitation, which to Five is the greatest form of courage there is.

And, of course, he's utterly adorable, with deep sexy eyes and a mouth that's usually at least half-turned up in a smile. Hair that's a bit mussed around the edges. Hands that speak of strength but also move with a lithe elegance.

"One thing at a time, all right?" he says, standing up. "Let's see if the mess hall is open - I'm starving!"

He tugs gently on her hand, and she stands up. He pulls the curtain open, and Maxine's chair on the opposite side of the treatment bay swivels very quickly.

Of course she was listening. Five isn't sure she minds. Maxine is a discreet friend. The chair swivels around again, this time slow and deliberate.

"How are you, Runner Five?" asks Maxine.

Five shrugs. Sam is still holding her hand. She tells herself that she should let go, but she doesn't.

"If you two hurry, you should still be able to get some lunch," says Maxine, smiling like she belongs in a scene where rainbows and unicorns are skittering around her. She walks over, gauze in hand, and slides Five's IV out.

Hell, thinks Five as Maxine secures the gauze with a piece of tape, she's happy for us.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, though, Sam?"

Five takes the hint and steps away toward the hospital doors, but her sensitive ears pick up the hushed conversation.

Her hand feels oddly empty without Sam's.

"People are asking if we're still having the party," says Maxine.

Five had never been one to make a big deal about her birthday, but she couldn't say no to the proposed party. People need any positive distraction they can get these days.

"After the day Five has had?" asks Sam.

"She won't want to let everyone down."

Five reflects on how well Maxine knows her.

"It should be up to her," he says. "But you're right, I'm sure she'll say yes."

"Jack and Eugene have been broadcasting since before daybreak anyway," she says.

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure she's going to want to hear that," he says.

"You're going to miss lunch - go," says Maxine. "And don't let her get away this time!"

Five steps outside of the hospital, digesting the realization that Maxine knows about Sam's feelings for her. Five realizes that she is wearing a jumper, strips it off, and examines it. Jody's. She ties it around her waist, making a mental note to leave it in Jody's room after lunch.

"Maxine just wondered about the party," says Sam from a few paces behind her.

Five stops, waits for him to catch up.

"We figured you'd still want the show, er, to go on and everything," he says.

She nods, and they walk to the mess hall in silence. She considers taking Sam's hand back, but the atmosphere around them has shifted as they are outside, in the daylight, in reality. She yawns, feeling the heavy weight of fatigue despite the nap. Maybe she imagined all of it.

His hand closes around hers, gives her a gentle squeeze.

Her heart does a backflip. Maybe not. She squeezes back.

They walk into the mess hall, and the normal babble of conversation begins to quiet. Someone's got the radio on, and before long it's the only noise left. Five can feel countless eyes staring at her, at them.

"What's the matter with you lot?" asks Sam in the ensuing silence, his grip on her hand still firm.

The hall erupts in applause. Someone calls out "about time!" and a series of whistles follows.

A huge, bashful grin erupts on Sam's face, and he throws an arm around Five's shoulders before kissing her on the cheek.

She smiles back at him, the spot where he kissed her pleasantly warm. She resists the urge to put her hand there, resists the thoughts about the feel of his mouth against her skin. He steers her to the counter.

"Don't forget, Five, you're still on extra rations," he says from behind her in line.

She throws a pretend scowl over her shoulder before letting double scoops of beans and peaches hit her plate. She still feels tired and a little shaky, but damn if her stomach isn't growling even if it's just tinned food today.

An undercurrent of voices begins to babble across the room, and the song on the radio fades out.

"So, Gene, Runner Five. Straight girls want to be her, and everyone else wants to be with her," says Jack's voice over the mess hall's radio speakers.

"What'd'ya mean, 'everyone else?'" says Eugene's voice in return.

"I'm just saying, Runner Five is an attractive woman," says Jack. "Fearless, smart, and pretty much a total bad ass."

"No argument there," says Eugene. "And don't get me wrong, Five is amazing. But you're stuck with me, Jack. No offense, Runner Five, if you're listening."

"Well, I'm glad for that. And there's one less competitor for Five's legions of besotted fans," says Jack.

A smattering of chuckles and suppressed laughter circulates around the hall.

"So everyone's welcome tonight at Abel for the party!" says Eugene. "And here's a song for the birthday girl."

Five sits across from Sam at their usual table. Over the years, Jack and Eugene have built the Runner Five persona into something larger than life. No human being could ever be as spectacular as they make her out to be. And she understands that people need those archetypes, perhaps now more than ever. If she can contribute to people's hope, even via the radio boyfriends' hyperbole, well, she figures that's not such a bad legacy.

Sam is quiet across from her. He's looking down at his plate, his smile gone, his eyebrows pinched together. She doubts he'll find solace in the beans and peaches silently staring back at him.

She extends one finger, rests it gently beneath his chin, and directs his gaze back at her.

"Listen, Five," he says, "I'm really sorry if I embarrassed you back there. Maybe I'm assuming things I shouldn't. Jack and Eugene are right, you are incredibly brave and smart...and beautiful. You're just perfect, really. And I've been hoping, you know, for a long time. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I understand. If you want us just to stay friends." His gaze dissolves back into his plate, his shoulders contracting in on each other.

Hearing this declaration, Five feels reality dissolve around her, reforming into strange, new, wonderful patterns. No one has ever bared heart and soul to her like that, heedless of the risk, expecting nothing in return. The reasons she had invented to keep them apart now feel trite, and she admits to herself that staying alone turned into being lonely years ago. This incredible man has feelings for her, maybe even loves her. She doesn't have to be lonely any more, and neither does he.

And suddenly she doesn't care that they're in the middle of the crowded mess hall, and that a million pairs of eyes are on them, and that it's the end of the world. The impossible feels possible, she needs to let him know that his insecurities are mistaken, and words have never served her well before.

So she leans across the table, wraps her fingers around the collar of his shirt, and presses her lips to his. The angle is awkward, but he kisses her back, slow and sweet, all the same.

They break apart as the hall gets quiet again, and she slides back down onto the bench. He's staring at her, a little like he was yesterday after that first bucket of water, but braver, somehow. As if he'll never be afraid to stare at her again, his cheeks trying but failing to drag his slack mouth upwards. He rubs a hand against his jaw.

"Um, Five? Wow. Uh...just. Okay. I mean, not 'just okay.' Much, much better than okay. Brilliant, actually. You are completely brilliant."

She feels her eyebrows lift, and she can't repress an answering smile.

He reaches for her hand.

"Can I kiss you again, properly, without an audience sometime very soon?" he asks, his voice soft and deep. She feels a blush steal across her face.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" he says. He lifts his other hand to graze the warmth in her cheeks.

She clasps her hand over his. Nods.

Sam Yao laughs, that bright, ebullient laugh that always turns heads. She loves being the source of that laugh, loves that he is so happy, loves this post-apocalyptic radio operator. He's right - what came before doesn't matter. What matters is here and now.

Runner Five. And her Sam Yao.

And the rest of the apocalypse be damned.


	5. Epilogue

All Sam Yao wants is to kiss his girlfriend again.

He doesn't feel like that’s unreasonable. True, she’s only been his girlfriend for all of about six hours, but she’s still his. He lets the warmth of that truth seep through every last bit of himself. He laid it all out on the table, and she leaned right across that table and kissed him. 

Another girl might have just held his hand and said yes. But not my Five, he thinks with a chuckle. And it was a very nice kiss, but by necessity it was also a short kiss. It was awkward for her, hovering over the table like that. And he’s pretty sure she guessed how surprised he was, though he hopes she didn’t interpret his split-second delay in enthusiastically responding as anything other than shocked happiness. 

He’s got plenty more enthusiasm where that came from. If only he could find her and they could escape from this party.

“I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you yet,” shouts Owen over the thumping bass line of whatever track Jack and Eugene have playing. He pours some foul-smelling liquor into Sam’s cup.

“Yeah, thanks,” says Sam, peering into the tan liquid. It might have a few dark specks of something floating in it, though it’s hard to tell with the mess hall’s lighting turned so far down.

“Cheers!” says Owen, lifting the bottle to his lips.

Sam obliges him by taking a sip. Liquid fire coats his mouth and his throat before engulfing his stomach. His vision was already getting fuzzy around the edges, and he’s going to have to stop accepting congratulatory drinks before he’s completely legless. 

“All right there, Sam?” asks Maxine, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah, fine.” He blinks a couple of times, and she comes into focus. “Have you seen Five?”

“Last I saw, she and Jody were having a running man contest,” says Maxine, leaning rather heavily on him. “Here, I brought you a present.” She stuffs some plastic wrappers in his trouser pocket.

He lifts out the strip of condoms, and his inebriated imagination takes off.

“You’re blushing. How sweet,” says Maxine, grinning. “I know it’s Five’s birthday, so they’re for both of you. Just doing my medical duty.”

“I, uh, thanks,” says Sam. “But, I haven’t even thought that far yet.”

“Liar.” She takes a swig of whatever’s in her own cup.

All right, it’s a bit of a lie.

“We’re doomed to never have any privacy, aren’t we?” he says.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she says. “Though Janine did a better job soundproofing the barracks’ walls the second time around.”

“Uh, Maxine, Five didn’t say anything to you about…”

“No, of course she didn’t.” She takes another drink. “But I trust my instincts. You two won’t last twenty-four hours.” 

Sam downs the rest of Owen’s mystery liquor in one swallow as Paula approaches. He coughs as his entire gastrointestinal tract is set ablaze.

“C’mon, Maxie, dance with me!” She looks pretty well buzzed, too, and the two of them stumble out toward the impromptu dance floor.

The mess hall is packed, and it’s slow going through the revelers, but he soon comes to the center of the hall. Five is holding her own with Maxine and the other Americans to some god-awful hip-hop number. He walks up to the deejay stand.

“Jack? What the hell is this?”

“Dr. Myers requested this one. But don’t worry, lover boy, we’ve got some good stuff queued up for you,” shouts Jack. Eugene is sitting next to him, fussing with his iPod.

Sam shakes his head and the room starts to spin. He half-sits, half-falls onto a nearby chair.

“Mr. Yao,” says Janine, removing the cup from his grip and replacing it with a clean glass of water. “Enjoying the party?” She scans the repurposed mess hall with serious eyes. 

“Guess so.” He gulps at the water. Good old Janine.

“There will be a lot of cleanup when this night is done,” she says. “I suppose it’s worth it, though, for morale. What are you drinking?” She sniffs his original cup. “It smells heavenly.”

“I’m drinking nothing more than water, if I can help it, for the rest of my natural life. But Owen’s got a bottle of that stuff if you’re looking for…whatever it was.” The lights are flying around a bit too much for his taste.

Janine disappears, and a piece of birthday cake appears in front of him.

“Eat this, it will help,” says Dr. Lobatse. He accepts the fork she hands him and complies.

“This’ll be my third piece tonight,” he says, concentrating on guiding each piece into his mouth. The coordination is taking significant mental effort.

“Everything in moderation, including moderation,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

Jody steers her away to someone who’s passed out on a nearby table, and Sam decides it’s a good thing that one of the Abel doctors is sober.

The music changes abruptly into a slow-tempo ballad. He swallows the last piece of cake and chases it with the remainder of the water. His head feels like it might be starting to clear when Five sits down next to him.

She says something that he can’t hear over the thrumming music and raucous conversations.

“What?”

“I might be a little drunk,” she shouts.

“Me too,” he admits. He puts an arm around her. “I told you how amazing you look, right?”

She pulls away enough for him to see her smile before settling back against his shoulder. Maxine, Paula, Jody, and Janine held Five hostage at the farmhouse all afternoon for “girl stuff.” When Sam came to fetch her for the party, it felt, for a moment, like he was just a normal bloke, picking up a girl for a date in the pre-zombie world. Five materialized from behind the big center staircase, her hair in soft waves, gloss on her lips, and a red dress showcasing her figure. His knees had gone weak at the sight of her, and he had leaned forward, hand on her elbow, his mouth an inch from her lips, when the other women emerged prattling about their afternoon of ministrations. So he had kissed her on the cheek instead, taken her hand, and contented himself with enjoying the view for the time being.

She smooths the edge of the dress against her legs.

“Where’d they find the dress, anyway?” he says, watching her hand brush against her thighs. Maxine’s prediction echoes in his mind.

“Can’t remember the last time I wore one.” She shrugs. 

“I’ll always remember it,” says Sam, leaning in to press his mouth against her neck. “I still owe you a proper kiss.” 

Five shivers.

“I don’t think I can wait much longer," he adds. He still can’t believe she chose him, that he can have this effect on her. He cups his hand around her jaw, gently turns her to face him.

It’s too loud to hear her reply, but he reads her lips well enough.

_Me neither._

She takes his hand and pulls him to a standing position. Her eyes fixate on his trouser pocket, and he follows her gaze to see the end of the strip of condoms hanging out.

Five raises an eyebrow.

“A gift from Maxine,” he says, still too drunk to be anything but brutally honest.

He almost loses his footing as she drags him outside and pulls him against her. Her lips are on his, eager and fervent, and he responds in kind.

 _Finally_ , thinks Sam. It’s the last coherent thought he has for a while.


End file.
